


Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest

by Agoodcaptain



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22784446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agoodcaptain/pseuds/Agoodcaptain
Summary: Joe is weary and dejected after the Old Trafford Test, which confirms Australia retain the 2019 Ashes - Jos comforts him.
Relationships: Jos Buttler/Joe Root
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest

Joe looked shattered by the time he made it back to the hotel room; his eyes were glazed over, his hair ruffled and his tracksuit hanging loosely over his shoulders like an older brother’s hand-me-down. In short, Joe looked like shit. Joe was a sorry sight, not fit for the company of his fellow man, but the only person to bare witness to him was Jos Buttler – doing yoga on the floor next to Joe’s bed (their bed, really) and Jos had seen Joe in much worse states over the years. And losing to Australia, confirming that England would not be winning back the Ashes was not his lowest ebb, not even close. 

Jos looked up from his downward dog when he heard the door and saw Joe looking like a puppy made to go outside for a walk even though it’s pissing it down, and just about melted. Jos tried to manoeuvre himself to a standing position to go over to Joe, and even in his weary state, Joe couldn’t help but chuckle at the visual. He hurried over to Jos’ side, “wait, wait, stay right where you are Jossy.”  
Jos rolled his eyes as Joe ran behind him and folded himself over Jos’ prone body. It was moments like these that showed the true spirit of the man, that after an awful few hours answering to the English and Australian press not to mention the days weeks months of hard work beforehand, Joe could act still like a complete teenager.  
“Done?” Jos asked as Joe gripped firmly onto his pert behind.  
“Almost… Okay, now I’m done.”  
Joe rolled softly onto the floor and pulled Jos down beside him and then onto his chest. They lay there in silence for a moment before Jos turned his head to kiss Joe’s chest above his shirt and look up at him.  
“You okay?” Jos asked carefully.  
Joe took a breath before answering, “Yeah, just… can we just stay like this for a while?”  
“Sure,” Jos whispered, keeping his tone gentle. He opened his mouth to say something placatory but decided against it, instead burrowing his head into Joe’s chest in what he hoped was a comforting manner. 

They remained like that, Jos’ head rising and falling with Joe’s breath, his neck starting to crick, while Joe stared at the ceiling. Jos figured he would sense when Joe was ready to move or talk. Joe twitched and took a loud breath through his nose and Jos took this as a cue to stir and carefully move himself to an upright position, helping Joe to do the same. They both settled onto the bed and Joe rubbed his eyes and smiled mournfully at Jos.  
Jos took Joe’s hand and gave it a squeeze, “Want to talk about it?” Joe shrugged, trying to find his words. After guarding his feelings in public, using carefully thought out phrases, it sometimes took Joe a while to let go. Jos had learnt to just wait, and Joe in turn had learnt that he could trust Jos completely.  
“I just really though we had a chance,” Joe said at last, slightly regretting how pathetic that sounded. But as always, Jos faced him without judgement, “Of course. We all did. Otherwise what the fuck are we doing here?” 

Jos smiled slowly, trying it out on Joe, and luckily Joe returned it.  
“You want to get room service? We don’t have to go anywhere.”  
Joe got up and started pacing, restless, “I just… I want… I dunno; I just want to go home really. I wish you had a flat up here Jossy.”  
Jos shrugged helplessly, all he wanted was to make Joe feel better, to easy any pain he had, but keeping a flat in Manchester didn’t make any sense. He loved playing for Lancashire when he could, and moving there had proved the best decision of his life, despite the personal cost he felt at the time; he had left Somerset and everything he knew, he had lost Craig, but he had found his way to England and to Joe. With England commitments and all his other travelling though – to India, to Australia – he preferred to have his place in South London, enough going on and easy for Joe to get to, just far enough away from his family, and from everything and everyone else – Jos couldn’t explain it but it was his sanctuary. 

Jos thought back to the last test where they had stayed at Joe’s place in Leeds; it was nice to have a proper home to stay in, and it was very helpful for the post-Miracle at Headingley sesh. Luckily their teammates were too euphoric (and too drunk) to get too curious and explore because they’d have easily sniffed out his stuff exploded across Joe’s room while the guest room he was supposedly staying in looked absolutely pristine. Jos came up behind Joe and put his hands on his shoulders giving them a gentle squeeze; they felt rigid.  
“We can stay at my place for the Oval.”  
“Mm,” Joe muttered, still sulky.  
“We won’t have to take the tube in,” Jos stroked Joe’s hair while he spoke, enjoying the rare experience of it not being full of product.  
“I don’t mind the tube actually,” Joe responded, uncooperatively.  
Jos sighed, resigned and flopped back onto the bed, “I don’t either,” he admitted.

Joe turned to Jos who looked just as despondent as him. Joe was miserable – true – they all were, but dragging Jos down even further when he was trying so hard to be supportive wasn’t helpful, and more than that, it just wasn’t kind. Joe walked over to the bed and half-collapsed onto Jos, covering Jos’ head with his arms and raining kisses down on his head.  
“I’m sorry baby, I love that you’re trying to cheer me up. I’m very excited to stay at your place.”  
“And?” Jos mumbled.  
Joe floundered, “and… your hair looks great today.”  
Jos cocked his head at Joe – really?  
“And…” Joe continued, searching for something, anything to say, “you’re very good at the sex… thank you for that.”  
Jos laughed – the sound immediately filling the room, and made it feel ten times brighter, “Well cheers for those compliments Joe but I meant-“  
“And I love you.” Joe jumped in, just in time. He leaned forward and kissed Jos on the nose. It was sloppy, but ultimately cute.  
“Nice save.”  
“And you love me. And even though we’re totally miserable right now, that makes us pretty lucky fucks. Right?”  
Joe didn’t sound totally convinced, but he was trying, he was really trying.  
“Come on,” Joe encouraged, sounding suddenly energetic, or at least doing a good impression of it, “Let’s go somewhere. I’ll go crazy if we stay here.”  
“Okay,” Jos agreed, happy with anything that gave Joe an air of positivity, even if he was faking it for now.  
“Just not with the lads; I need a cricket break.” Joe’s eyes suggested it wasn’t just cricket he needed a break from; it had been a long summer and keeping up various pretences with their teammates, the media, the public, was exhausting. 

Jos got a sudden twinkle in his eyes, one that always preceded either one of his incredibly good or incredibly dangerous plans; sometimes they were both, the best ones at least, “I’ve got an idea.”  
Jos bit his tongue and waited, Jos took that as invitation to continue, “Do you trust me?”  
“Less and less by the second,” Joe said, but he was smiling – albeit reluctantly – as if slowly slipping out of his role of Joe the captain, and back into his role of Jos’ boyfriend.  
“Where are we going then?” Joe grabbed Jos’ cheeks as if trying to reassert some control over Jos, a facile endeavour in the long run, he knew.  
“This is my neighbourhood. Kind of. Just go with it.”  
Joe raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Jos gave Joe a kiss, soft and slow, and then extracted himself from Joe’s arms, eliciting an involuntary wounded sound from Joe. Jos started gathering a few things from the wardrobe, dumping them in his kit bag, as Joe sat up and watched him, narrowing his eyes, “What are you doing?”  
Jos smiled, feigning an enigmatic air, “I’m getting ready in my room.”  
“Have you even been in there?” Joe retorted immediately, “Are you even sure you have one?”  
“Yes.” Jos responded, somewhat petulantly, “and it’s perfectly lovely thank you very much.”  
“Come on Jossy; don’t be silly, just stay here.”  
“I’m not- I’m just taking the mystery in the few places we can still get it.”

Joe flicked his eyebrows upwards; Jos had a point. There wasn’t much room for romance or glamour when you spend months sharing dressing rooma and hotel beds. The other day, Joe had got Jonny started on one of his long stories and abandoned Jos with him at the breakfast table just so he could poo in peace.  
“I’m getting worried now. Where are you taking me?”  
“Don’t be worried, just… err on the side of… sexy.”  
Joe opened his mouth to ask a follow-up question, or perhaps make a cheeky comeback, but before he could say anything Jos winked, and then he was gone.  
\--------------------------------------------

In the Uber from their hotel, Joe kept glancing at Jos, with a smirk. He had first opted for slacks and a grey shirt but after panic-texting Jos, he was told “less team dinner, more casual” so he pulled on his tightest jeans and a baby blue t-shirt that he remembered Jos once said brought out his eyes. Jos was wearing a short sleeved denim shirt with quite a few buttons undone, the mere sight of him as he stepped out of the lift had set Joe’s heart racing. Joe had no idea what Jos was up to; even after all these years as teammates, then friends and finally for the last eleven months, lovers, he found Jos utterly unpredictable, which was both scary and wonderful. 

Growing up, being who he was, Joe had always felt more or less alone. There were exceptions to that of course and playing in a team, one like England, captaining it, certainly helped him feel part of something. But it wasn’t till he and Jos got together for him to feel like he actually belonged to something greater. It was a slightly mad thing to explain, he was still trying to figure out how to voice it with Jos. They had only first said they loved each other at the start of the summer – part of the World Cup Final euphoria but definitely real, and repeated and reaffirmed many times since; whispered into bed sheets, muttered under their breath in the middle behind a gloved hand as if discussing batting conditions, and casually thrown out when parting. They felt closer than ever but Joe wasn’t exactly sure how to say that he wanted to run up to couples on the street and say, “I get it. Finally, I get it. We’re the same.” Joe was desperate to just grab Jos, hold his hands tight to his own chest and say, “Oh. There it is. This is that thing they’ve been on about.” Aside from the fact that running up to random couples in the street was an easy way to make the Metro front page, Joe just wasn’t sure Jos would quite get it. Jos had been in long-term relationships before, and though he didn’t talk about it much, Joe was pretty sure he didn’t go through the same self-loathing stage he had, or at least he’d left it back in adolescence where it was meant to dwell. Jos just seemed so settled to Joe; so content, so good.

Of course Jos had his fair share of emotional turmoil and heartache – he grew up gay in rural Somerset for god’s sake. But he’d worked through all that – slowly, painfully at times, and thanks in no small part to his relationship with Craig. Nowadays, honestly he just didn’t like to think about it. It was kind of amazing to think about how far he’d come in that regard – five years ago he was on the outs from England, and from his long-distance boyfriend, starting in a new club, with everything new and unfamiliar and terrifying. One lonely night after a county game finished early, he packed a bag in his sad hotel room and planned to drive down to surprise Craig. Instead, they had a blazing row down the phone over something inconsequential; Jos got drunk and stupid on an empty stomach and danced all night with some shirtless, faceless twinks in Queer. 

Now he was sat in the back of a taxi, his boyfriend the England test captain next to him, and unbeknownst to him, they were headed to Canal Street, the gay village of Manchester and its beating party heart. Of course when he first joined Lancashire, he was anonymous, now he and Joe were two of the most recognisable faces in English sport and they were in the middle of an Ashes series. But being risk-averse wasn’t exactly in Jos’ makeup; making the move to Lancashire, smacking boundaries over fielder’s heads, smashing his gloves into the stumps with Martin Guptill bearing down on him, pulling Joe Root’s face towards his own and kissing him – so far he hadn’t too badly out of his decisiveness. Plus, there was that whole Thomas Crown Affair hiding in plain sight thing. Okay so Jos was trying to find any excuse to justify his plan, and if Joe knew what was going on he’d be using his captain’s voice to send them back to the hotel. But sometimes, like when Jos took the initiative and kissed him that fateful night, Joe Root just needed to be told what was best for him.

\--------------------------------------------

They started off at Baa Bar round the corner from Canal Street. Jos wasn’t hiding anything exactly; he just figured Joe could use a few shooters inside him before they crossed the threshold of the Village. Jos could certainly use one, or five. He found Joe a booth then brought over a tray with two large gin and tonics and shooters of varying wild hues – Jos didn’t really know what the flavours were but decided it was probably best if they didn’t think too hard about it. 

If anyone recognised either one of them, they didn’t make a big deal about it. The bartender had given Jos a lingering look as he ordered but Jos realised that he was just being checked out. Jos blushed and retreated back to Joe; he could never quite get used to anyone, of either, any or no gender flirting with him. It had taken him long enough to realise that’s what Joe was doing, though even Joe would admit that his technique was at best unorthodox. Joe’s attempts were cautious forays into what was for him largely terrifying and unknown territory, backing off in a panic when he felt like he’d edged too far over line; reverting to an overuse of the word “mate” and punching Jos heavily in the shoulder as if to emphasise his platonic intentions. They’d had to get through a good deal of nonsense, misunderstanding and no small amount of hurt but look at them now – the dream team. 

Joe eyed the drinks warily and Jos held his breath, wondering whether Joe was still in Captain Mode or was back to his mischievous self that everyone who knew him well was all too familiar with. Joe reached for a bright blue shot, handing Jos a glittery purple one; they clinked glasses and Joe winked saucily, “You’re trouble, you are,” he purred.  
They downed their shooters and Jos wiggled into the booth next to Joe, pinning him there with a firm, possessive hand on Joe’s leg. This was a good middle ground between public and private – no one they knew around, and technically hidden beneath a table but unmistakably intimate. Whether eased by the alcohol or the setting, Joe made no objection to the touch. Indeed he seemed to visibly relax into Jos’ side, smiling up at him dopily like a lovesick teenager, taking little to no notice of his surroundings as he sucked down his gin and tonic.  
“You okay?” Jos asked carefully, cognisant of Joe’s bad mood earlier, and the possibly fragile nature of his doe-eyed smile.  
“I’m good,” Joe answered reflexively, then corrected himself, “I’m better. I’m enjoying being here. With you.”  
Joe underlined the point by downing another shooter, and Jos followed suit. Jos forced himself to chill out; this was all going to be fine. Right?

\--------------------------------------------

Jos decided to take advantage of Joe’s giddiness and after they downed their last shooters, which were traffic light colours for some reason, he pulled Joe from the booth with a grin, “Come on.”  
“Where are we going? Back to the hotel?” Joe had a glint in his eyes, one that was difficult for Jos to resist, but he was determined.  
“Not yet.”  
“Okay…” Joe acquiesced, narrowing his eyes slightly but not questioning Jos further.  
Jos felt momentarily guilty, like he was betraying Joe’s total trust in him, but if Jos wasn’t around, Joe would never get out of his comfort zone. Before they got together, Joe had never seen a film with subtitles, he hadn’t been to an art gallery since he was a kid, and Jos was pretty sure Joe had never been out on Canal Street. They walked around the corner, not quite arm in arm, but their public version of it, squished tightly together with every possible part of their sides touching.  
“Where are you taking me?” Joe asked more time as they turned into the Village.  
“A brave new world,” Jos whispered with a smile as they walked into the Sunday night crowds. Joe stopped walking, falling out of step with Jos, and the wrench from his side felt like actual physical pain. Joe didn’t say anything but he cocked his head in a silent question. There was no use playing dumb now, Joe clearly knew where they were; maybe he’d watched Queer As Folk after Jos had talked about his teenage crush on Aiden Gillen and Joe had stared back at him nonplussed. 

“Jossy,” Joe’s tone veered dangerously close to his Captain’s Voice and Jos froze like a naughty schoolboy; he sometimes forgot that Joe was actually his boyfriend and he isn’t about to be called into a meeting with the captain and coaches to be scolded. Although saying that, he did have to hold in giggles through a telling off when the umpires had reported him for calling Colin de Grandhomme fat during the World Cup. Jos wanted to protest that what he’d really said was that Colin had quite some clip for a chubby boy and it was actually a compliment, but instead he listened to Trevor’s reprimand as he looked at the floor to avoid Joe’s faux-stern gaze, which he found adorable rather than menacing, then later asked for Joe to hand out his punishment as spanking. 

Jos couldn’t quite figure out Joe now though, was he actually mad or just nervous? Jos sidled back up to Joe and put a reassuring hand on the small of his back, “We’re just going for a dance.”  
“At a gay bar?”  
Joe wasn’t stupid and there was no use skirting around the topic any longer.  
“Yeah. So?”  
Joe opened his mouth and closed it again, he screwed up his face but there was a smile threatening.  
“And if we get recognised?”  
“We’re doing community outreach aren’t we?” Jos smirked.  
Joe was wavering, I mean clearly on the face of it, it was a bonkers idea but Joe was pretty buzzed, potentially enough to ignore the voice of reason in his head, because clearly more than anything, he just wanted to say yes.  
“Come on,” Jos pushed, “I want to pop your Canal Street cherry.”  
It was Joe’s turn to smirk now, “Oh you think I’ve not been here before. That’s cute.”  
Jos frowned, Joe had to be pulling his leg; there was no way his poor, sweet, naieve boyfriend - who thought otters and bears were just something to be seen on David Attenborough - had been out in Manchester’s gay village before. Jos had checked under that particular bushel, and the light was not switched on.

“Go on,” Jos prompted when Joe didn’t offer anything further. Joe blushed and shrugged before answering, “It was a while ago, I had just come out to my family, things were… tricky.” Jos rubbed Joe’s arm comfortingly, he knew Joe didn’t like talking about his family stuff; things were much better now but that didn’t stop it from being really fucking painful at the time.  
“Billy had this big lads holiday booked in Zante but he cancelled it to take me up here for the weekend. I mean it’s a fucking weird thing to do, going to your first gay club with your brother. But he was great about it. Always has been really.” 

Jos smiled wide; amazed he hadn’t heard this story before. He had met Billy a few times, mainly on the county circuit and they’d only hung out once since he and Joe had got together; it was a group setting so they couldn’t chat much but Billy had given him a big hug and told him to take care of his brother. Jos had always liked him, but wasn’t aware of just how much he’d done for Joe; when he’d needed his family the most, Billy had been the one to step up.  
“Well,” was all Jos could say for a second, “William Root, wingman to the gays, who knew?”  
Joe shook his head, and then smiled at the memory but Jos didn’t let up, worried that pausing too long would make Joe change his mind. Jos offered his arm formally to Joe, “So? Can I squire you good sir? Is there room on your dance card?”  
Joe giggled and after a long pause, muttered a barely audible “Okay”, took the offer of Jos’ arm, and followed him down the street. 

\--------------------------------------------

They skipped the queue at one of the clubs, much to the chagrin of the waiting punters. Despite Jos’ insistence that he hadn’t been there in years, the bouncer winked at him and ushered them both in. Joe gave him an inquisitive look, not scolding but definitely teasing. Joe could see Jos’ blush even though the lighting was purposefully dim, “It was a very bad breakup, okay?”  
Joe squeezed his hand comfortingly; he didn’t think he would ever stop loving that red hue on Jos’ cheeks.  
“Shots?” Jos said quickly, covering his embarrassment badly.  
“Sure. But then, we dance.”

Jos’ grin returned, realising that this particular horse had not been dragged to the water, he was already muzzle-deep in it; they should have done this ages ago. But maybe part of it was the magic of these particular circumstances, this particular night. That was the overwhelming feeling that came over Jos as they hit the dance floor; the importance of the two of them in this present moment, and everything they felt for each other. He didn’t worry about next week at the Oval, or what the press might say about the team and both of their places in it once the series was over, he just thought about how sexy Joe looked in those jeans, how endearingly bad he was at anticipating the beat dropping in the song, and how good his arm felt when he grabbed at Jos’ waist. 

After almost an hour of joyous, sweaty thrashing in the crowd, just as Joe was about to miss the beat drop again, Jos took one of Joe’s wrists and pulled him off the dance floor and outside into the cool northern night-time air.  
“Home time, babe” Jos instructed and Joe happily complied, following him.  
“Thank you,” Joe whispered into Jos’ ear a couple of steps down the cobbled street.  
“For what?”  
“Tonight.”  
“Oh. You’re welcome. You had fun then, in the end?”  
“Mm hm. Gold star boyfriend.”  
Jos grinned, and gave himself a mental pat on the back; yep, he’d done good. He looked over to his exhausted but contented partner and swelled with pride and love for him. Unable to contain himself, he pulled Joe down a side alley, pushed him back onto a wall and kissed him hard and full; like they had only just reunited after a long time apart, like it was relief to some enforced absence or withholding. Though surprised, Joe lost himself in the moment; the feeling the cold, damp brick against his hot back, the taste of salt on Jos’ lips (or maybe on his?) the lingering scent of sun cream on their skin that showers never quite get rid of during a summer series, and the weight of Jos’ strong body against his. All too soon, it was over and Jos toddled off down the street to look for a taxi, leaving Joe breathless and for a moment, too stunned to move. Eventually, he unglued himself from his spot and followed Jos in a dreamy haze.

It was in this blissful state that they floated back to the hotel, ate kebabs in bed that definitely weren’t part of their nutrition plan, and eventually fell asleep in each other’s arms. There had been an illusory, ephemeral quality to the whole evening, and the cold reality of their cricketing lives would greet them in the morning. But tonight, Jos’ boyfriend - a handsome, hardworking chap called Joe - needed cheering up and he’d provided the remedy, the comfort. Yes, that was the perfect word to describe it, and it was this last thought that occupied Jos’ mind as he drifted off into tranquil sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the depressing setting (I'm working on a post-Miracle at Headingley piece right now, promise!) but I thought it was cute. 
> 
> I have a Root/Butt companion piece to my World Cup fic that I did for the Ashes Fic Exchange so once that is published, I'll have even more content on this pairing ready to go. 
> 
> Loving writing these boys right now, let me know what you think!


End file.
